Never Satisfied: Do Men Know What They Want? (12 page)

During the taping of my film,
Do Women Know What They Want
? I asked a woman if she was being unrealistic about expecting all these qualities in one man? Her response was, “If you think you’re worth it, you can have it all.” Really ladies? Is that all it takes is to believe you’re worth it? What about the nice guys who believe they’re worth it? Can they have it all too, if they just believe? Or is it more a matter of adapting to the game? For those of you who are single, you know the dating game is ruthless and all about posturing and playing games. Even if a man approaches you respectfully like a gentleman, he still must possess charisma, confidence, good looks, and be dressed in the right gear! But guess what, the nice guy isn’t always the smoothest one in the bunch. In fact, he’s usually rather clumsy when he approaches you. It’s not because he lacks confidence, it’s just not that easy to approach women in public, especially if she’s with a gang of women blocking his approach. It’s like walking into a den of lionesses. Not only does he have to worry about being rejected by the woman he likes but all the other haters whom she is surrounded by. And don’t let them be drunk and start clowning him, the walk back to his boys, who are always watching, could be the longest walk of his life.

You see, ladies, when you’re the nice guy you’re under the impression that all you need is a pleasant personality and respectful mannerism to attract a woman. Of course, this is his attitude before he gets dumped for the ump-teenth time, is stood up twice in one week, and witnesses the bad guys having all of the success. Suddenly, he starts to re-evaluate his position. Late at night while lying in bed alone yet again, the nice guy begins to analyze himself. “What am I doing wrong?” he contemplates. “Maybe it’s time to stop playing the fool and learn how to play the game?”

What experiences could cause a man to permanently or even temporarily vacate his position of nice guy? Oftentimes it’s just a matter of observation. The nice guys have examined the cheating man’s rate of success. Likewise the cheating man has observed the nice guy’s complete and total failure. Vincent, who is 26 years old says, “Amen” to that. He is sick and tired of being dogged out by women who claim to want a good man. As he put it, “Women don’t appreciate good men anymore. They lie to you and play games just to get into your pocket. Once the money is gone, they’re gone!” This is the attitude he adopted six months ago while at the nightclub in Dallas. What began as an evening out with the fellahs turned into an education about women he would never forget.

Vince’s Story

I
t was 10:00 p.m. when I arrived at the club. My feet were killing me from standing all day at work, so I was hoping to find a seat. Luckily, there were still three unoccupied tables in the back, directly across from the ladies room. I rested my jacket on the back of the chair, flagged down the nearest waitress, and ordered a pitcher of beer and Buffalo wings. But if I had known about the show that was going to take place later that night, I would have ordered a box of popcorn instead. At ten thirty my best friend Nate shows up, late as usual. I could tell by the look on his face that he was pumped and ready to party.

“What’s up Vince!” he shouted. “I hope you’re ready to throw down tonight.”

“Sit your wild ass down, Nate.” I laughed. “Pour yourself a beer and chill out.”

“Good idea partner,” he said while lighting up a cigarette. “Let’s work on getting a nice buzz until more victims arrive.”

Nate was a real dog but he always had great success at pulling women. And he isn’t exceptionally attractive either. As a matter of fact, I’m much better looking. He is 5’8”, a little on the chubby side, and wears glasses. I’m 6’2”, slim, with 20/20 vision. However, picking up women has little to do with looks and more to do with confidence. Nate demonstrated that to me on a number of occasions. I may have been handsome and a gentleman, but he had the most important characteristic of all, charisma.

By 11:30 p.m., the club had really started to jump. Nate and I, now full of Coronas and Tequila, grabbed the closest women we could find and shot out onto the dance floor. My sore feet had been magically healed with a shot of Patron. The DJ was really mixing it up with some R&B and house music. My dance partner was deep into the music. She took off her jacket and tried to show me up, but she didn’t know who she was dealing with. Meanwhile, Nate and his partner were standing around like two geriatric patients, swinging their hands from side to side. I don’t know what in the hell they were trying to do. It looked like a bad imitation of an old dance called the Spank. After forty-five minutes of bumping, jumping, and sweating, we took a break. I rushed to the men’s room to freshen up and Nate went back to check on our table. The club had begun to fill up and no seat was safe from hostile takeover.

After wiping off my face and spraying on a fresh coat of cologne, I headed for the bar. The bartender was a tall good-looking woman with full lips. When she asked me what I was having, I wanted to say, “How about those lips,
on the rocks
.” But instead, I ordered a screwdriver and kept from having my face slapped. While I sat there sipping on my drink, I glanced around the bar searching for good prospects. That’s when Sharon caught my eye. She was sitting on the far end of the bar with two other women, both of whom were attractive. I must have stared at her for at least twenty minutes trying to work up the courage to introduce myself. Women have no idea how uncomfortable it is for a man to approach them, especially when they’re in a group. It’s not as easy as you think. After checking myself in the bar mirror, I took a deep breath and made my move.

“Hello, my name is Vince, would you like to dance?” Without saying a single word, she grabbed me by the hand and led me onto the floor.

“I guess that means yes,” I said jokingly.

The dance floor was packed with people Stepping, some people call it hand dancing or bopping. We shoved our way through and joined in. It wasn’t long before people were stepping all over my sore feet and scuffing up my shoes. The only benefit was getting a full view of Sharon’s anatomy as she turned and dipped. She was about five-seven, with beautiful brown eyes, and a body like a Kim Kardashian. And the outfit she had on was hot, a gold sequin mini dress with matching pumps. What a sight! It took everything I had not to palm her ass while we were dancing.

Twenty minutes later the DJ slowed things down. I expected Sharon to rush off, but she surprised me by putting her arms around my waist and leaning against my chest. For the next two slow songs she whispered the lyrics in my ear and grind the shit out of me. I tried to keep my dick from getting hard but it was a losing battle. Half way through the first song I was as hard as petrified wood. When the dance was over, I quickly shoved my hand inside my pocket and escorted her off the dance floor.

“Thank you for the dance,” I said trying not to look too embarrassed.

“The pleasure was all mine, “she said with a seductive smile.

“If you have a minute, I’d like to sit down and get better acquainted.”

“Sure, but let me go finish my drink and talk with my girlfriends for a second. Where are you sitting?”

“Directly across from the ladies room,” I said while pointing.

“Ok, I’ll meet you over there in a little while.”

“Wait a minute!” I said. “I didn’t get your name.”

“My name is Sharon, what’s yours?”

“Vincent.”

“Ok, Vincent, I’ll see you later.”

As she turned to walk away, I took another look at her body in that tight dress. Boy was she filling it out. Her ass was so round you could have sat a drink on it and maybe even an ashtray. I jacked up my slacks and walked towards my table feeling like I had hit the jackpot!

Getting back to my seat was no easy task. Women were all over the place trying to get in and out of the restroom. Meanwhile, the men were standing around with empty glasses in their hands blocking the aisles. They were too cheap to get a refill and too chicken to talk to the women who were walking right past them. After excusing myself a thousand times, I finally made it through. Not surprisingly, Nate was sitting right smack in the middle of two tables full of women. He looked like a kid in a candy store.

“Man, do you see all of these women,” he whispered. “I’ve already got three phone numbers and the night is still young.”

“Congratulations, Playboy,” I said trying to keep my voice down. “Now, if you don’t mind I’m going to need your seat for a minute.”

“So, you pulled one huh Vince? I knew it wouldn’t be long before I rubbed off on ya.”

“Just take your no dancing ass out there on the floor and try not to make a fool of yourself”

“Happy hunting, partner.”

He took one last sip of his drink, and made his way through the thick crowd. Now I was left alone with a group of loud and flashy women on both sides of my table. Wouldn’t you know that out of all the appealing females in the club, I ended up sitting next to the most obnoxious? Sure, a couple of them were attractive, but as it turned out, not very classy. Little did I know The Broadway musical “Women from hell” was about to begin and I was going to be in the starring role.

For the next 30 minutes I looked down at my watch a hundred times wondering what happened to Sharon. I didn’t want to believe she faked me out, but my faith was weakening with the passing of every minute. After waiting restlessly for another 15 minutes, I resigned myself to the fact that she wasn’t coming. My mood changed from exhilaration to aggravation. How could she play me like this? I thought to myself. “If she wasn’t interested she should’ve just said so.” Nate always told me never to get my hopes up too high when dealing with women. “They’ll burn you every time,” he would say. As I sat there with my feelings hurt, I decided to do what most men do, get drunk. All I wanted was a stiff drink and to be left alone. But the women sitting next to me had other plans.

“So, are you waiting for your wife?” one woman inquired.

“No, I’m not married.”

“You must be waiting on your girlfriend, then.”

“Well, I’m not exactly dating anyone seriously right now.”

Why in the world did I have to go and say that? They were all over me like white on rice after that comment.

“Hey girls, he’s single!” she shouted to her mob.

“Well, are you available or what?” another woman asked.

“Yes and no,” I replied.

“Which one is it sweetheart?”

“What I want to know is do he have a job?” her illiterate girlfriend interrupted.

This interrogation was getting to be a pain in the ass. Some men may find all this attention to be flattering, but not me. I’m not attracted to overly aggressive women, especially not ignorant ones. I politely told them I was expecting a friend, hoping it would quiet them down. And for a while, it did. But this was the calm before the storm.

The women who were piling in and out of the ladies room only added to my frustration. They were talking loudly and using harsh language. As I listened in on their conversation, my young mind was disturbed and enlightened. And because they had such big mouths, it was easy to overhear every word.

“Did you see that cheap ass dress that bitch was wearing?” Said one woman whom you never would have expected to speak in that way.

“Yeah girl, and she still had the price tag on it,” her girlfriend laughed. “She’ll be taking that bad boy back for a refund tomorrow.”

Then I overheard another woman schooling her girlfriend on how to take advantage of men.

“Girl, you should have left your wallet in the car”

“And how was I supposed to pay for my drinks without any money?” the girlfriend asked.

“Simple, do what I do. Find a man with some money, show him a little cleavage, stroke his ego, and grind against him on the dance floor. He’ll be buying you drinks all night long.”

“Hmm,” I thought. “So that’s the game huh?” I put that one in my mental Rolodex. Finally, there was a group of intoxicated black and Hispanic women coming out of the ladies room screaming.

“Where are all the real men?”

“Yeah, where are all the real men?” the women at the table next to me joined in.